Royal Protocol (9 page)

Princess Megan rose and brushed a kiss against her mother’s cheek. “I’ll come with you,” she said to her sibling. “I’ve already canceled my day at the foundling home. You can help me write thank-you notes for wedding gifts.”

“We’ll see you for dinner, Mum.” Meredith kissed her mother, too.

So did Anastasia.

“We’ll see,” was the queen’s only reply.

Harrison suddenly felt like the proverbial bull in the china shop as he stood to the side waiting for the princesses to depart. There was none of the formality here that he’d always seen among the royal family. Even with the undercurrent of anxiety about their brother, a sense of casualness permeated the very feminine room. But it was the way they treated Gwen that he found most interesting. Seeming mindless of his presence, the princesses each walked up to her on their way out, stopping to give her a hug as if she were family herself. Gwen murmured something to each of them, words of encouragement, a reminder to call if she could be of help.

Meredith was last.

“Make her join us,” she muttered to Gwen. “She needs to eat.”

“I know,” Gwen murmured back. “I’ll work on it.
And, Meredith, I’m sorry this all had to happen the night of your engagement. This should be such a wonderful time for you.” A smile lit the depths of her eyes. “Your Pierce is a very lucky young man.”

Stepping back, Gwen released her. “You girls be careful.”

“We will be,” the princess assured her on a whisper and, after giving her another quick hug, followed her sisters past the guards in the hall.

Harrison found himself staring at her back as she finally closed the door. He’d already suspected that she was far more influential with the queen that he’d first thought. Considering what he’d just witnessed, he realized she was also the anchor here, the person they were all looking toward to get them through a rough stretch of stormy sea.

He hadn’t expected that. Nor had he expected the very real affection between her and the queen’s children. Watching her with them, he’d seen none of her reserve. Just genuine interest and a gentleness that put another crack in the ice maiden image he’d once had of her.

Had it not been for the other affairs on his mind, he might have wondered at how easily she’d been sabotaging his concentration all afternoon. She was doing it at that very moment. Having fewer moments by the second to spare, the only other thought he allowed himself about her was that she didn’t need to be there now.

As if she’d just read his mind, she turned to where Queen Marissa remained seated on the divan. From the moment he’d come in, he’d been aware of her. He was aware now of the way she deliberately avoided his eyes.

“Do you wish me to stay or leave?” she asked the queen.

“Stay.” Her Majesty’s ringed fingers were clasped in
her lap, her knuckles nearly white against her sapphire skirt. “Please.

“Admiral,” the queen continued, oblivious to the quick disapproval shadowing his rugged face. “Would you like to be seated?”

With his hands clasped behind him, he glanced at the groupings of dainty chairs. The queen was sitting on the only piece of furniture he wasn’t afraid he’d break. Gwen stood next to the only chair he might have considered next.

“I’m fine standing,” he decided, impatient to get through the civilities and on to the point of their meeting. “But thank you.”

“Well, then.” Though her posture was erect as always, there was a weariness about the queen that washed the color from her skin. Beneath the slashes of pink on her cheeks, she looked as pale as milk. “I have considered the information you provided me through Lady Corbin. She explained your rationale regarding the dinner, and convinced me it would be in the best interests of my son to do as you are insisting. But I need you to understand that I’m only doing this because of him. He is my first concern.”

“I do understand,” he quickly assured her, more relieved than he cared to admit that he wouldn’t have to argue his point yet again. “You have made the right decision.”

“I truly hope so.” The strain in her features entered her voice. “I also hope you will understand that I meant what I said this morning. Preparations will continue for the dinner, but we have canceled my other engagements for the next several days.

“I can’t convincingly present the unruffled front you say you need,” she informed him, suddenly looking be
yond tired. Now she simply looked drained. “I don’t understand why it would be necessary, anyway. Lady Gwendolyn and I have discussed the matter at length and we feel the public will expect me to be at my husband’s side and here awaiting news of my son. I said as much in my address, so my absence from the public eye during this time should cause no undue alarm. Especially with Prince Broderick being so…visible.”

With the exception of her last statement, Harrison could find no fault at all in her logic. Broderick was still an unknown entity as far as he was concerned. The rogue wolf of the royal pack, as it were. But his interest now was in finishing his business with the aristocratic and decidedly pale woman rubbing the middle of her forehead. It was she who held the power to make or break the alliances the RET was struggling to keep intact.

“You obviously understand how important appearances are just now,” he told her, carefully considering the logic behind her conclusions. “And your rationale is good. Prince Owen’s captors shouldn’t have any problem buying it, either.”

His brow furrowed in concentration, he paced toward the fireplace. “Your lack of visibility could serve another purpose, too,” he murmured, his mind racing with each deliberate step. “We’ve been concerned that your sudden presence in the political arena will make the people even more aware of the king’s absence. They’re accustomed to seeing you in your usual venues. Education. Charities. The arts,” he enumerated, mentally perusing the lengthy list of her normal activities. “If you are suddenly seen with heads of state in chambers or are associated with the alliances, it would just cause people to remember our present situation. Your absence from the press will be the
easiest way not to constantly remind them that the king is ill.”

Gwen had remained as still as an alabaster statue beside the exceptionally ornate chair. Despite her disagreements with him, she had clearly understood what the RET needed. Because of that, he would have thought she understood his rationale now, too—which was why he had no idea why she was regarding him with obvious disapproval.

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” he said, intent on ignoring Gwen’s frown. “This will truly assure our allies that we are committed to our agreements.” He hesitated, having to think of Gwen, anyway. “Which brings me to the other matters I must discuss with you.”

The small clock on the mantel struck six o’clock with genteel pings. The ache in the queen’s head seemed to throb with each note.

“I told you, Admiral, I don’t care about the other matters. I’ve agreed to what you wanted.”

“There is still more to be decided.”

“Not now.”

“It has to be now,” he insisted, politely. “The next twenty-four hours are critical.”

Looking numb, the queen simply shook her head and started to rise.

“Your Majesty—”

Gwen had resisted as long as she could. “Her Majesty is tired.” She stepped forward, inserting herself between him and the woman he didn’t appear to hear. He’d actually seemed to think that the queen was talking strategy moments ago. “Please leave her alone,” she quietly asked.

Giving her a look that clearly said he would go when he was through, he deliberately stepped around her.

“There is too much at stake to delay,” he insisted, utterly determined to do his duty. “You know our trade agreement with the U.S. is contingent on signing the alliance with Majorco. We have only five days left to negotiate certain points. You need to hear your advisors.”

“Anything I need to hear can come through Lady Gwendolyn.”

A muscle in his jaw jerked. “With all due respect,” he said, doing a commendable job of keeping his frustration from his voice, “that won’t work. The lady’s security clearance isn’t high enough to be privy to such matters.”

“Then see that she gets whatever clearance she needs.” Fabric rustled as the weary regent moved between the divan and a footstool. “Thank you for coming, Admiral,” she murmured and, without another word, turned to her room.

Because Harrison was there, Gwen stuck to formalities and dropped a quick curtsy as their queen departed.

Because he had no choice, Harrison kept his mouth shut.

He had a knack for never quite overstepping the line with the king or the queen. Not that he’d dealt that much personally with the latter before. But so far, his experience had served its purpose. He could suggest, recommend or advise, but he knew that to question a direct order would have definitely put him over it.

That didn’t stop him from silently questioning what the queen wanted as the door to the salon closed with a decisive click. Feeling shackled, hating it, he bit back an oath and turned to meet the displeasure shadowing Gwen’s eyes.

His eyebrows merged. “What?” he asked, practically biting off the word.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“No,” he agreed, frustration fairly leaking from his pores. “But I can tell that you want to. Go ahead and say it.”

She didn’t much care for the fact that he could read her so easily. It seemed to put her at an even greater disadvantage than she already felt whenever she was around him.

Wanting badly to avoid another disagreement, she sought to explain rather than accuse.

“I was just thinking that you somehow missed Her Majesty’s point.” She could see his agitation. That she could actually feel it tugging the nerves in her stomach was even more disconcerting. “She couldn’t care less about that alliance right now.”

“Well, she needs to care.” Aware that his voice had just risen, he glanced to the closed doors behind him. When he turned back to her, his voice dropped like a rock in a well. “Dozens of people are waiting for her decisions so documents can be finalized. The longer they have to wait for those decisions, the more easily our position could deteriorate. There is nothing more important—”

“There is nothing more important to her than her child,” she quickly concluded for him. She rarely interrupted anyone. But he simply wasn’t getting it. The man was a brilliant tactician, intelligent to a fault, but this one simple fact refused to gel. “She is scared to death for her son. Imagining him in all sorts of horrible scenarios. I imagine she’s even bargaining with God, asking Him to take her in Owen’s place if that is somehow possible. A blind man could see how distressed she is, but you just keep pushing.”

For a moment he said nothing. He simply moved to stand in front of her, slowly, like a panther approaching
cornered prey. His body blocked hers, surrounding her with the tension radiating from his large form. That tension prickled the hairs on her neck, her arms. The nerves in her stomach jumped.

His voice dropped to a furious whisper. “I push because these agreements are critical to the future of this country. There hasn’t been a time in the last hundred years that we have been in the position to accomplish what the king has spent the past three years putting together. There isn’t time for her to indulge emotion now.”

“Indulge emotion?” The phrase stiffened her spine, pulled up her chin. The way he crowded into her space, taunting her with his heat, totally destroyed decorum.

“Haven’t you ever loved anyone?” she demanded, her voice matching his so they couldn’t be overhead. “Haven’t you ever been sick at the thought of what that person might be going through? What they might be suffering, or needing or feeling? Haven’t you ever cared about someone so much that it makes you ill at the thought of what your life would be like without them in it?”

She was practically toe to boot with him. With her head tipped back, Harrison could see the flashes of blue fire in her eyes, the flush of indignation on her flawless skin. Her impossibly erotic scent filled his lungs, urging him closer, making him more aware by the second of how close her curvy little body was to his.

All he’d have to do was slip his hands around her waist and he could pull her to him. Twelve inches. One foot. A lousy point-three-oh meters and he could taste her incredibly stubborn, incredibly seductive mouth.

Realizing what he was tempted to do, wanting badly to do it, he ruthlessly reined in his libido.

“I’ve done my best to avoid that particular complication.”

The low growl of his words doused the heat in her eyes. “That probably explains a lot about you.”

“It explains nothing. It’s just a fact.”

“Then, I really do feel sorry for you.”

“Don’t. From what you just said, it sounds as if I’ve saved myself a lot of grief.”

He wasn’t feeling anywhere near as callous as he sounded. What he was feeling at that moment was defensive and angry, and he wasn’t exactly sure why. Maybe it was because she seemed to believe he enjoyed badgering a woman who carried an unbelievable burden on her shoulders. Maybe it was because he hated pushing the queen, but he had no choice because of all that was as stake. Or maybe it was simply because something about the lady warily watching him constantly reached past his armor and yanked at parts of him he hadn’t even realized were there—parts he’d had to shut down simply to do his job.

The thought caught him totally unprepared as he watched caution enter the luminous depths of her eyes.

“Do you honestly believe that?”

The disbelief in her delicate features was echoed in her voice.

Her question also stopped him cold.

He couldn’t believe how transparent she was. The way she’d met his challenge moments ago had made it clear how deeply she cared about Queen Marissa and her children. In her irritation with him, he suspected she’d also revealed a great deal of how she’d felt about her own husband. He never would have believed it, but she was woman who cared intensely and with passion. What she felt, she felt to her soul.

He’d never in his life known that kind of caring. Certainly, no woman had ever felt it toward him.